


Drabbles

by Kida_Bridger



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Earth Transformers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kida_Bridger/pseuds/Kida_Bridger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles centering on Jazz and Prowl</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters from Home

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to those own it. Not me.  
> Pre-Earth  
> Verse: G1.  
> Words: 1k
> 
> Notes: Inspired by Lonestars: Im already there. May be rewritten.

Prowl leaned against the wall just inside the doors to the rec room. His optics drifted over the quiet mechs slowly, picking out the differences. Normally at any given time day or night the rec room was a bustle of mechs. Playing music, games or just chatting. At the moment none of that was happening. Mechs sat quietly, staring at their energon. The rooms atmosphere a decidedly morbid one. His gaze caught on the red and gold armor of the front-liner twins, and he let out a vent of air at their dejected postures. It had been ages since the last prank from Sideswipe. Even Jazz, the smart, beautiful, funny, music loving Jazz, was silent and had been for longer then he wished to consider.

With a sigh he left the room, heading back towards his own office. The war was bringing all of them down. Every lost battle, every mech that didn’t come back, every time they took a look at their ripped apart and dieing planet, a piece of them died as well. Many had begun to wonder just what they were fighting for. And Prowl was one of them. He knew why it had started, knew what he had fought for originally. But now, with so much loss surrounding them and no hope for a bright tomorrow, why bother? Why fight a losing battle? They should cut their losses and leave. If the decepticons wanted a dieing planet, why not just let them have it?

He returned to his office, dreading the work he had to do today. Normally he liked the reports that crossed his desk. But the single data-pad awaiting him was the kind he hated. It was a causality report from the last battle. Six mechs had offlined. While it wasn't technically his job, he always investigated each death and if the mech did have family that was not with the Autobots, he felt it his duty to inform the survivors of the death. He hated being the bearer of bad news even though he always tried to find some way to soften the blow. But how do you tell someone that a loved one is dead without it nearly killing their spark? He knew, deep inside his own spark, that if the mech he loved ever died it would certainly kill him as well.

The noise of his door sliding open caught his attention and he glanced up to see Blaster standing there with a box of data-pads in his arms.

“Sir, we received these this morning and they're not addressed to any specific mech. I was uncertain what to do with them.”

“I'll take a look, just set them over there.” Prowl gave an absent wave of his hand towards the edge of the desk.

It was several joors before he was able to check out the data-pads, but as he read through the first one, doorwings that had drooped without his knowledge slowly perked up. The note was short, unlike anything he had read before, and it was from a neutral.

“Dear Autobot,  
My name is Jadespark. I am a neutral youngling living in the southern sector. I am writing this letter to thank you for service to our world, our people. Please know that we, the mechs and femmes of Cybertron, thank you for your commitment to our freedom. We are there with you and will welcome you with open arms when you finally return.  
Respectfully,  
Jadespark.”

Prowl shuttered his optics and then on-lined them again. It was such a simple letter, yet it was a powerful reminder of what they fought for. He picked up the next datapad and read through it slowly. He went through all of them, giving each of them the courtesy due. Some were longer, some just saying thanks. As he finished the last one, he replaced all of them back in the box. Some would require answering, but he didn’t think it was his place to do so. For the first time for a very long time, he left his office with a small smile curling his lips and his doorwings standing at attention on his back.

Reentering the rec room, he set the box on the table with a soft thud. Not a single mech looked his direction.

“Jazz.”

Jazz glanced up then did a double take at the soft smile gracing the tacticians face. When the mech made a motion for him to come forward, he did so out of curiosity, his visored optics still latched onto the amused face of his commanding officer. Prowl handed him a data-pad and he read it quickly, skimming over it, before stopping and reading it in earnest.

“Please see to it that these get distributed.” Prowl could see the changed already taking place in the saboteur. His visor lightened and his posture straightened. And for the very first time in a long while, the mech smiled brightly.

Reluctantly, Prowl left, he still had work to do after all. At the end of his shift though he was back, leaning against the wall just inside the door of the rec room. The complete reversal of atmosphere was apparent. Mechs were laughing, talking, some even singing and dancing. The box he had brought the data-pads in now sat empty. The data-pads themselves were being passed from mech to mech. Every so often someone would claim one, stating the intention to respond. He stepped away from the wall and turned to leave, happy that the the crew was happy once again.

Arms encircled his waist from behind and a frame pressed against his back. He smiled, leaning back into the embrace of his mate, contentedly. He rarely allowed public displays, but it had been so long since one had even been offered. He turned and wrapped his own arms around Jazz tightly, loving the feel of the mech as he pressed his helm into Prowls shoulder.

“It's just what they needed, Prowl. What we all needed. A reminder of what we are fighting for.”

“While it is encouraging that the neutrals do appreciate what we are doing, they aren't the main reason I fight.” Prowl pulled away from Jazz just enough to place a kiss on the top of the mechs helm.

“Why do you fight then?” Jazz leaned up for a proper kiss only to growl as Prowl pressed a kiss to each of his audial horns instead.

“For you. Always and forever. You come first.” Prowl captured his mates lips then, silencing him with a deep and passionate kiss.


	2. Glimpse of the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the future changes everything for Jazz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Rather angsty drabble. Character death, of a sort. I have no idea if I will expand on this one or not.

Horrified optics followed the almost graceful curve the orange ship carved into the night sky. He struggled suddenly, straining against the cuffs binding his arms behind him, fighting to yell, scream or even cry through the block surrounding his vocalizer. The Ark had left. Without him. Unable to do much else, he slumped, doorwings sagging as he watched the Nemesis lift off and follow the Ark.

He was Second in Command. He should be up there, fighting, shouting tactical orders, helping his friends and fellow officers. But no, he was here. Held prisoner by a mech he had thought a friend. A mech that hadn't been the same in nearly a vorn. Never the same, not since that infernal contraption of Wheeljacks had exploded and thrust him into the future. He had come back several orns later, simply appearing out of nowhere with a haunted and pained expression on his faceplates. No one, not even the Prime had been able to get him to talk about it.

As the Ark and Nemesis vanished amongst the stars, Jazz bowed his head. He had betrayed his Prime, held a superior officer captive, and had probably lost one of the most dear friends he had ever had. He offlined his optics and shuddered. He didn't regret it though. There was no way he could. Not after the future he had seen. It haunted him. Oh sure, they had won the war. But at what cost? Too many lives lost. But of all those lost, only one had nearly stopped his spark. Forcing him to realize something he had never even thought of.

He was tired. Ever so tired. He rarely recharged anymore because the images from that future broke free from the cages he had hid them in and haunted him. A slowly graying version of himself, so broken and lonely that life no longer held any meaning for him. Memories that had been forced into his processor by a desperate mech would flood unhindered if he let down his guard for more then a click or two. Memories that were his and yet not his. Video files hacked from the black box of a doomed shuttle. A blaster hit to the chest, liquid fire pouring from between screaming lips. The memories played in reverse, rewinding quickly. Starting from the devastated emotions that the video had brought forward to missed chances, to time spent with a mech he should have been loving all along.

A pained noise from behind him had Jazz whirling, his visor flaring as his optics onlined. He stared at the struggling Prowl and quickly forced the memories that were not his own away and behind their bars once again. He moved forward, wincing as the bound mech leaned away from him, and removed the block he had placed on Prowls vocalizer. Hurt, anger, betrayal and a number of static filled curses spilled out into the night air. He waited until Prowl tired and stopped struggling before removing the mechs bindings. He brought up a hand to brush against cheekplates and gave a sad smile at the accusing look he received.

“I'm sorry, Prowl.”

He turned and walked away. Away from a mech that had in the span of a few orns in another time had come to mean more to him then his own life. A mech that now hated him. But that was alright. At least he would live.


End file.
